


Chase The Dragon

by BitShifter



Category: The Avengers (1960s British TV)
Genre: Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-14
Updated: 2007-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitShifter/pseuds/BitShifter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steed takes up painting. Emma fights like a tiger.</p><p>The eleventh in a series of adventures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enter The Dragon

**Disclaimer:** Some copyrighted characters have been borrowed 

**March 1965**

Emma groaned as the rigid edge of the Asian woman's hand smacked her sternum with knife-like sharpness. Her auburn hair flailed wildly as she fired back a solid fist toward her opponent's abdomen, only to have it blocked by a lightning-fast countermove. The beautiful Oriental dropped into a crouch and swung her leg out in a roundhouse kick, sweeping Emma's feet out from under her and slamming her onto her back. 

The woman pounced quickly, landing with her knees on Emma's shoulders. She smoothly slid forward and trapped Emma's neck between her powerful thighs, then squeezed them together in a strangulating grip. Emma tried to insert her fingers between her own neck and her adversary's legs, but to no avail. 

Spots appeared before her eyes as Emma heaved her body from side to side in an attempt to dislodge her attacker. The jet-black ponytail of the martial arts specialist swung from side to side with the motion, but she did not relinquish her stranglehold. Finally, Emma tapped the palm of her hand flat against the floor twice, and the pressure on her throat was released. 

A light spattering of applause erupted from the gathered bystanders at the Kings Road Dojo, most of them male. It could be attributed in equal parts to respect for the skills of the women and to admiration for the two perfectly-toned bodies revealed in anatomical detail by the clinging nylon they wore. 

"Tricky as always, Mei-Ling," Emma conceded, rubbing her shoulders gingerly. The attractive instructor offered her hand to help her up from the padded mat. 

"Thigh strangulation is a move that women can use freely and with great effect," Mei-Ling explained. "Men can't do it because they would expose too vulnerable a target—or, should I say, _targets,_ " she added wryly. The two women walked side by side across the sparring area where the men were practicing judo. One of the male students backed too close and bumped into Mei-Ling; she sent him on his way with a friendly slap on the rump. 

"I'm not sure my thighs are strong enough," Emma ventured. 

Mei-Ling smiled. "I've seen you do a scissors toss by wrapping your legs around the waist of a fifteen-stone man. Your thighs are strong enough." 

A ragged archway in the cinderblock wall marked the entrance to the women's locker room. Since the club had originally been designed for men only, the women's facilities had been added as an afterthought, hastily partitioned off with brick and mortar from the men's real estate. The shower area was small, barely large enough to accommodate two. While Emma searched for towels, Mei-Ling quickly shimmied out of her nylon leotard and turned on the shower taps in the tile-lined bay. 

"In a hurry?" Emma asked casually, removing her own nylon body-stocking. 

Mei-Ling nodded as she basked in the warm stream. "I have a second job. I'm dancing tonight." 

Emma stepped in beside her, their naked bodies almost touching in the cramped space. 

"You dance? For money?" 

"It pays much better than being a karate instructor," Mei-Ling declared. "You should drop by and watch the show." 

"What kind of dancing do you do?" 

"Just as you see me now," she said, executing a brief pirouette. 

"You dance in the nude?" 

"You're not ashamed of the female body, are you, Emma? These _are_ the sixties." Mei-Ling turned around more slowly under the flow, displaying every inch of her athletic frame. Then she swept her eyes up and down her showermate, and Emma became uncomfortably aware that she was being scrutinized. 

" _Your_ body is nothing to be ashamed of," Mei-Ling said appraisingly. "You have perfect proportions." 

"Er—thank you." Emma instinctively reached up to lather her shoulders. 

"The men who come to watch me dance would fall all over themselves to meet a woman like you," Mei-Ling added. "Many of them are quite well-to-do." 

Emma avoided eye contact and faced the shower nozzle. "I'm a widow now." 

"I thought that with Peter gone, you might need some... comfort." 

"I'm not currently looking for any physical gratification." 

Mei-Ling arched her eyebrows suggestively. "All women are," she said. "It's that man Steed, isn't it?" 

"Excuse me?" Emma almost dropped the soap. 

"It's his smile. And his hair, so dark and wavy. I could certainly go for him." 

"I've never thought about him in that way," Emma lied. She hoped Mei-Ling didn't notice the tense excitement that had rippled through her body. 

"I imagine that he's quite the lover," Mei-ling continued on glibly. 

Emma reddened. "I wouldn't know about any such things." 

"Then perhaps it's time you found out." Mei-Ling shut off the water and reached for a towel. "Or if you're not interested, bring him down here for a workout and introduce him to me." 

-oOo-

Emma found the door unlocked when she arrived at Steed's apartment. Her senses were immediately on alert, but she eased up when she heard him casually address her from somewhere in the living room. 

"I'm positive they were over here...," he called out in puzzlement. 

Emma glanced at the table next to the door, where she spied a bowler and an umbrella, his trademark talismans. Was he looking for these? Then she noticed a Cardin jacket draped carefully over a chairback, and beyond that, Steed in his vest and shirt-sleeves, the latter of which he had rolled up to his elbows. He was crouched on the floor, facing away from her with his backside up in the air. Emma recalled Mei-Ling's comments from earlier and made an effort to resist staring too long at his physique. 

She watched in amusement as he crawled around the sofa on all fours before stopping to look up at her face. She smiled back at him. 

"Something wrong, Steed?" 

"I've lost my marbles," he said innocently. 

"No argument here." 

"I had just made a perfect shot knocking out four ducks." 

"I don't see any waterfowl," she teased. 

"Stationary marbles inside the ring are called ducks, Mrs. Peel." He gestured to a chalk circle that had been carefully drawn on the hardwood portion of the floor. 

Emma dropped to one knee to peer beneath the liquor cart while Steed checked the opposite side, continuing his explanation. 

"Of course, it was a magnificent shot, scattering the victims to the four corners of the room, as it were." His face lit up. "There they are." He swept an arm beneath an end table, lassoing the errant marbles back into his grasp. Steed sat back on his haunches and comically juggled three of marbles in the air before grinning at her. 

"How about it, Mrs. Peel?" he offered. "Keepsies and no quitsies." 

She arched an eyebrow. "You want me to play marbles with you?" 

"The name of the game is Ringer," Steed announced, handing her a shooter marble. "Knuckle down." 

Emma went into a full crouch on her hands and knees, unable to suppress a smile. "I haven't done this for nearly two decades." 

"Back when you were Emma 'Cat's-Eye' Knight, Supreme Shooter of the Schoolyard?" 

"I was a rope-skipper. Fancy footwork," she explained. "They called me 'Twinkle-Toes'." She watched as Steed arranged thirteen marbles in a cross at the center of the ring. 

"Ladies first," he said. "First to reach seven wins." 

Emma shot and knocked out a single duck, but she lost her turn as the shooter left the ring. "That's one. Do you do this often?" 

"I had to play last year," he explained. "Against a marbles champion, a Cockney bloke named Pitters. Suspected of running a criminal organization down on the waterfront. It turns out, I had to play him for more than ten thousand pounds in order to infiltrate the gang." Steed made a shot, knocking out two marbles, but narrowly losing his turn. "Good thing I brought them down, or I'd have never gotten the money back. That's two." 

"You lost to him, then?" 

"Don't get your hopes up, Mrs. Peel. I've been practicing on and off for several months since." 

Emma ranged around the circle for a better angle, coming to a stop with her shoulder rubbing against Steed's. She was close enough to smell his fragrance, the same one that she had found so comforting on his shirt in Paris. The memory sparked her imagination. 

"There's a woman down at the dojo who'd like to meet you," she said carefully as she aimed her next shot. "A martial arts instructor named Mei-Ling." 

"I suppose I could always go a few falls with her," he teased. "What's her interest in me?" 

"From what I gather, she's smitten with your smile." 

Steed grinned. "And indeed, what woman wouldn't be?" 

Emma narrowed her eyes. Her shot went wide, making only glancing contact before leaving the ring. She looked directly at Steed. "Mei-Ling also seems to think that I should start dating again." 

"I'm sure you'd have no lack of suitors," he replied breezily, feigning disinterest. 

"You do think I'm attractive, don't you Steed?" she asked with a playful smirk. 

Steed gave her a serious look. "As a jewel in an Ethiop's ear, Mrs. Peel." He launched and knocked four more marbles out of the ring, retrieving them for his pile. "That's six for me. I, of course, am only interested in your mind, and the power and cunning that lies behind your lithe muscles." 

Emma wrinkled her mouth. "I bet you say that to all the girls." 

"Only the ones who can defeat an enemy like The Ladja in hand-to-hand combat." 

"There's a happy memory," she said brightly. "What happened to our diabolical mastermind?" 

"Checkers is languishing in Siberia, last I heard." 

"At least he has his mask to keep him warm," she offered. Steed effortlessly knocked out his seventh duck. 

Emma faced the victoriously grinning Steed as she reclined on an elbow. "Well, things should be pretty quiet around here with him out of the way," she continued. "It's not like evil villains pop up every day." 

-oOo-

The trapdoor opened and a wooden platform moved smoothly upward, carrying its occupant into the darkened end of the room. In the dim light, one could just make out his traditional Chinese outfit, a flowing purple robe with black lapels and a tightly-buttoned collar. His features were indistinct, but dominated by a braided Fu Manchu moustache. The Mandarin hat on his head was so heavily jeweled that it resembled a crown. He spoke tonelessly to the solitary figure that faced him. 

"I am Lo-Chen." He paused a moment for effect. "And this," he gave a sweeping gesture, "is my Dragon." 

A hulking form moved in the shadows adjacent to him. It lumbered forward, heaving its bulk from side to side as it approached. 

Mei-Ling stood transfixed in the center of the room, trembling in spite of herself. She was naked except for a thin strip of shiny black fabric tucked between her thighs and held up by a G-string: her dancing costume. It was the only thing she was wearing when the hooded men had abducted her. The darkness made it difficult to discern the face of her captor, but she was certain it was the same Chinese gentleman she had glimpsed in the audience earlier that evening. 

Lo-Chen continued. "You believe that you are skilled in the ways of fighting. You may think that you can escape my stronghold. The Dragon is here to show you that it can never be done." 

The Dragon stirred in the gloom. There was a metallic click, and a great gout of fire erupted from the silhouette of its head. In the blazing illumination, Mei-Ling saw green, scaly skin as she stepped backward to avoid the heat. She tried to remain calm, but the shape in the shadows filled her with ancestral dread. 

A malevolent laugh came from Lo-Chen. "Embrace her, my Dragon. Let her know _fear_." 

The shape moved in closer, into the light cast by the single overhead lamp. Suddenly she realized that it wasn't really a dragon at all, but a man. Every inch of his skin was imprinted with jade green scales, like tattoos. He was completely naked except for a brief cotton loincloth—and two other articles. On his right wrist was a small wooden bottle with a hinged top. On his head, he wore a steel visor with two large, blazing red eyes formed from rubies. 

Mei-Ling was paralyzed with fear as the Dragon Man raised his wrist to his lips and tipped back the wooden bottle to fill his mouth. Then, with the mechanical click of an igniter in his left hand, he spewed forth the flaming contents. She screamed in terror as the burning liquid formed a fireball that nearly reached her, stopping inches away from her face. 

She lashed out in blind panic as she retreated. Her fists pounded at her adversary's head with every bit of power she could muster. The Dragon Man stood unflinching, heedless of her attacks as he continued to close the distance between them. 

Mei-Ling gathered her composure and slammed a rigid fist into her opponent's solar plexus. He shrugged it off with a wave of his hand, as one would swat at a fly. She kicked sideways at his shin with enough force to fracture a tibia. Still, the Dragon Man crept ponderously forward. 

She knew she was fighting for her life now, and there could be no holding back. Mei-Ling aimed a crippling strike intended to crush the Dragon Man's throat. Even as her fist made crunching contact, she regretted having to use her skills to kill. 

The Dragon Man threw back his head and finally broke his silence. The noise that came from his throat was not a scream or a death-rattle, but a long and hearty laugh. Then he swung his mighty fist around to hit Mei-Ling flush on the temple, and she sank into darkness. 

-oOo-


	2. Dark China

**Chapter 2**

Night was falling as John Steed guided the Bentley into one of the seedier alleyways of London, an area on the Thames waterfront known as "Dark China." A place filled with laundries, opium dens, and rookeries; but also home to several "gentlemen's clubs", where the elite could go to indulge their voyeuristic urges by watching exotic dancers flaunt their wares on stage. 

He could hardly believe that his search had led him here. When Mrs. Peel had been unexpectedly out of communication for a few days, he had started inquiries to make sure she hadn't run afoul of some miscreant. While her disappearance was no concern of Whitehall's, since she wasn't a Ministry employee, Steed had pulled a few strings with his man inside, Thornton. Luckily, Mrs. Peel's Elan convertible was not a common sight in London, and it took only a few hours for his contacts to trace it down to this ill-begotten section. 

An empty parking spot was available immediately behind the Elan, only a few feet from the rear entrance of one of the clubs. As he pulled the large green car slowly in, several street urchins scampered into hiding, invariably to lie in wait for an attempted mugging when he walked towards the front entrance. _What could possibly bring Mrs. Peel to a place like this?_ he thought. 

Steed disappointed the potential thieves by sneaking directly into the back door of the building. He strolled quietly down a darkened hallway until he encountered a patch of light coming through a beaded curtain. As he moved closer, he could see that it screened off a cluttered dressing area. Steed swept the strands aside, and his eyes widened at the sight that greeted him. 

Mrs. Peel stood facing away from him. It appeared that she was completely naked. Steed couldn't help but admire the way her hourglass shape flowed from her shoulder blades down to her narrow waist before curving to the perfectly rounded cheeks of her backside. Her skin was peach-colored and flawless. 

Steed cleared his throat uncertainly and she spun to face him. Her hands immediately flew up to hide her chest, leaving the dark area between her thighs uncovered. For a second, they were both speechless. 

Then he realized that she _was_ dressed after all. She wore nothing but the briefest of outfits, little more than a strip of shiny black fabric stretched over her lower abdomen and held up by a G-string that was virtually invisible from a distance. 

Emma glared back. He had no way of knowing that under her palms was proof of her excitement at being so completely exposed before him. 

"Get out of here at once, Steed!" 

His response sounded timid by comparison. "I was worried about you." 

"Have you been following me? How dare you!" Her anger seemed genuine, though blunted somewhat by his obvious concern. 

Steed had caught brief glances of various parts of her anatomy in the past, but this was the first time he could take in every square inch of her at once. It had a breathtaking effect, and he spoke with difficulty. 

"You have a fine, athletic form, Mrs. Peel." He watched as her face reddened, though it was difficult to tell whether from embarrassment or fury. "But you may be in grave danger," he added seriously. "This is a bad part of town, a stronghold for organized crime. What exactly are you doing here?" 

"I'm undercover," she retorted. 

Steed gave her a wry smile. "Not very much. What's the reason?" 

"Mei-Ling has disappeared. I'm trying to find her." 

He looked at the black fabric between Emma's thighs. "Disguised as an Oriental pearl diver?" 

"She was moonlighting as an exotic dancer." 

"I see," Steed replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "So you'll be performing here, tonight," he pointed to the brass pole in the middle of the dressing room, "on one of these?" 

Her determination faltered for a second. "That's my plan." 

Steed's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps I should join the audience, keep a lookout for any suspicious characters." 

Emma set her mouth into a firm line. "You are not permitted to watch." 

"What am I permitted to do?" 

"Stay away," she warned. "This is none of your business." 

Steed took a few steps towards her, moving close enough to press his cheek next to hers. "This is a gentlemen's club," he said smoothly. "And I'm certainly a gentleman." 

Emma must have been weakened by his nearness, since her anger seemed to dissipate. She turned her head, allowing her lips to touch his cheek as she spoke. 

"Steed, I want you to promise me that you'll leave now, and won't try to follow me any more." Emma could feel him start to object, and she shifted her arm so that she could delicately press her finger to his lips. "This is something that I must do on my own," she added. 

Steed sighed. "Very well, Mrs. Peel." 

"Say it," she demanded. 

"I promise I won't follow you." 

"I'm going to hold you to that promise, John Steed. Now leave, and forget everything you saw," she ordered firmly. 

"I can leave," Steed said with a touch of humor starting to cross his face. "But if you think I can forget, you underestimate yourself." 

Emma stood there with her arms crossed over her bosom and her feet planted defiantly apart. Steed couldn't prevent his eyes from wandering down past her navel to her long and shapely legs. Her body was the perfect canvas on which to paint a masterpiece of erotic pleasures. 

As if she sensed his wicked thoughts and disapproved, Emma shifted her arm again so she could point forcefully to the door. Steed politely tipped his hat before leaving. 

-oOo-

Emma quickly rummaged through the drawers of Mei-Ling's vanity, trying to put Steed out of her mind. Damn the man! How had he found her so quickly? She didn't know whether to be angry, embarrassed, or aroused. 

Ever since Peter's death, she had become concerned that she was leaning on Steed too much, and that he had happily taken on the mantle as her "protector." She was her own woman, and the sooner that Steed learned that, the better. 

She coolly sat on the stool and crossed and uncrossed her legs twice before deciding that she couldn't wear the G-string. Not enough coverage in front or back. She checked the vanity again and found some more conservative bikini-style panties. These would be best, just in case Steed didn't honor his promise. The matching top was virtually all strings, with two small swatches of nylon. It took her some moments to strategically position them to be presentable in general public. 

The manager would probably complain that her attire wasn't revealing enough, but it wasn't as if she was seeking permanent employment. All she needed was to check out the customers and find a few leads. It had taken her two days to trace which club had been Mei-Ling's. Her efforts to talk her way into a waitress position had stalled once the manager caught sight of her body, and he insisted that she must become a dancer. It didn't matter. Her plan was to get a good look at the audience, then after a minute or two, feign stage fright or shyness and rush off. Later, she could loiter around the bar seeking consolation, and check some of the clientele more closely. 

And just to make sure no one in the crowd could identify her afterward, she had an extra ace. Emma reached into the vanity and pulled out a small black mask, adjusting it in the mirror as she put it on. It covered her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, and would give her some measure of anonymity. 

-oOo-

Steed straightened his bowler as he left the rear entrance of the nightclub. He had promised not to follow Mrs. Peel, but he hadn't promised not to find Mei-Ling. There was a public call box near the Bentley, and within seconds he had made an inquiry and received Mei-Ling's address. No surprise; her place was only a few blocks away, deeper into the part of the city known as "Dark China". Steed decided to walk rather than move the car from its well-placed spot. 

The address turned out to be a small shop with several apartments upstairs. Steed assumed that Mei-Ling must have rented one of these from the storeowner. The sign out front said HERBS, and below that, in smaller letters, MOO-PO WONG, PROPR. He entered through the front door, which set off some dissonant chimes hanging from the ceiling. 

The shelves lining the walls were filled with strange jars and boxes bearing labels stenciled with Chinese characters. No one came forth to greet him. _The herb business must have withered,_ Steed thought. Then he heard noise and laughter coming from the back room. 

Steed stealthily moved past the sales counter, only to find the back room empty as well. The sound was coming from a brightly-lit stairway into the basement. He silently crept down the steps into a noisy hallway. 

The corridor was lined with brick, and several Chinese laborers were coming and going through a passageway. "Buy fan-tan and make money!" a doorkeeper was shouting, first in Mandarin, then in heavily accented English. He saw Steed approaching and crossed his arms as a signal he intended to refuse entrance to the stranger. Then Steed flashed a roll of bank notes, and the door was quickly opened to allow him to pass. Once inside, the cashier barred his way, offering him a collection of narrow bamboo-wood tallies. 

"You bet these, mister. No money on the fan-tan table." 

Steed produced a twenty-pound note and was handed forty of the markers. His appearance in full dress with bowler and umbrella was completely incongruous with the shabby attire of the other bettors, and they cast a suspicious eye at him as he took his place. 

The _t'an kun_ , the 'master of the spread', was a scraggly older man wearing a plain black robe with navy-colored lapels. His gray hair was shot through with streaks of black, but it was still difficult to tell his age—somewhere between fifty and sixty, Steed guessed. The man plunged both his hands into a nearby container of ordinary clothes buttons and piled them on the table in front of him. He then quickly covered them with a brass bowl. 

Bets were placed by stacking tallies along the four sides of a square, corresponding to numbers one through four, or at the corners between the sides to bet two numbers at once. Using a long wooden stick with a curved end, the t'an kun counted out the buttons from the pile four at a time. The number left over after the groups of four were counted was the winner. Steed watched carefully for several minutes without making any move to place a bet. 

The t'an kun frowned at him. "You plan to play fan-tan, mister?" 

"Of course," Steed said smoothly. "Now, how does one wager..." 

The man grabbed the buttons, then slammed the bowl over the pile with extra force, as if in protest of the newcomer. The entire room watched in surprise as Steed took every single tally in his possession and put them on the number "3." 

The t'an kun removed the bowl and started pulling off four buttons at a time. At the end, three buttons were left. 

Steed smiled. "Beginner's luck," he offered. 

The t'an kun said nothing, simply grabbed another double handful of buttons and dropped them on the table before covering them with the bowl. 

Once again, Steed wagered all of his bamboo tallies, including the winnings, this time putting them next to the number "4." After the counting, no buttons were left over. Four was the winner. 

"Beginner's luck again?" the t'an kun asked. 

"Not at all," Steed grinned. "That time, I was drawing on my experience." 

A cloud passed across the face of the t'an kun. He turned to the cashier. "You take over, Li-Hsien." He motioned for Steed to follow him outside. They traced their way back up the steps into the herb shop before the gray-haired man spoke to him. 

"How did you come to be here, mister?" 

Steed smiled. "The name is Steed, John Steed. The door was open, so I came on down. You shouldn't leave it unlocked." 

"Nobody buys herbs at night," the t'an kun said levelly. "You were spying. Who sent you? One of the Tong bosses?" 

"Luckily for you, no. They might be interested in someone who runs a crooked fan-tan game." 

The t'an kun remained expressionless. Steed continued on. 

"That's a singular talent you have there," he said casually. "You always seem to know the exact number of buttons you grab." 

The gray-haired man hesitated for a moment. 

"You are incorrect, Mr. Steed. I don't know how many buttons I grab. I only know the amount left over when it is divided by four." 

"Quite an advantage in a game like fan-tan," Steed replied. "Your system was easy to spot. When you place the bowl, you hold it loosely, at an angle; and whichever edge of the bowl hits the table first, that's the winner. Left is one, farthest from you is two, right is three, and closest to you is four." Steed fanned himself with the bamboo tallies of his winnings. "Clockwise." 

"And how does this advantage me?" 

"One of the players is your confederate. He wagers small amounts, but always wins more than he loses, so by the end of the night you two can split a handsome bankroll without having to forward a percentage of the profits to the Tong." 

The man nodded. "I see. You are most clever, Mr. Steed. It appears that I now owe you something for your silence." 

Steed inclined his head in acknowledgement. The t'an kun offered him a chair. 

"My name is Moo-Po Wong," he said. 

"I'm looking for the woman who lives upstairs," Steed began. "A martial arts instructor by the name of Mei-Ling." 

"You're very gracious," Moo-Po smiled. "Many men would have referred to Mei-Ling as a stripper." 

A look of alarm passed over Steed's face. "Surely you mean 'dancer, wearing skimpy clothes'?" 

"She is only wearing clothes when the music starts, Mr. Steed." 

-oOo-

The lights in the club dimmed as a single spotlight illuminated the brass pole on center stage. The manager stood nearby, holding a microphone. 

"Gentlemen, I present to you—The Erotic Emmanuelle!" 

He made a sweeping gesture as the hi-fi system started thumping the opening chords of The Rolling Stones' "Satisfaction." Emma strutted out onto the stage wearing black leather high-heel boots and the two-piece black nylon bikini lingerie. With a sprightly leap, she straddled the pole in the vee between her thighs. 

_I can't get no satisfaction..._

She panned her vision across the faces in the crowd, checking for any sign of Steed. It appeared he had kept his promise. Emma gripped the pole with both hands and slid her foot upward along its length into a perfect vertical leg split. The audience gasped. She wagered that none of the regular dancers approached her level of gymnastic skill. 

_I can't get no... I can't get no..._

The music blared on as Emma lowered her leg and held the pole with one hand as she danced. She gyrated her hips seductively in time to the music and Mick Jagger's vocals. This gave her the perfect opportunity to examine the clientele while relatively stationary. The lighting was better than Emma expected; she was having no trouble seeing individual features. 

_When I'm drivin' in my car..._

Emma reached high on the pole and hoisted herself into an aerial horizontal split, spinning slowly around as she descended back to the floor. She used the motion to check the far corners of the room for anyone who might have escaped her peripheral vision earlier. Only a minute had passed, and she felt that she had a good mental catalog of all the customers. 

_Supposed to fire my imagination..._

More time was going to be needed if she wanted to observe the spending habits of the patrons. Emma suddenly realized no one was going to throw any money unless she removed an article of clothing. Emboldened by the anonymity that her mask offered, she decided to abandon her plan of an early exit. 

_'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try..._

Emma cast another quick glance into the audience for any sign of Steed. She had underestimated the boisterousness of the crowd. The song wasn't even two minutes old, and already the encouraging shouts were turning into impatient grumblings. If she wanted to remain on stage, she would have to take something off. As Mei-Ling had said, these _were_ the sixties. 

_I can't get no girl reaction..._

The place would descend into a riot if she waited any longer. Emma reminded herself that no one here knew her identity. Reaching behind her back with both hands, she thrust her chest outward as she tugged on the knotted strings. Suddenly, even to her own surprise, her bikini top came free, sliding down her abdomen, between her thighs, and then onto the floor. Pandemonium broke out. 

_Animals_ , she thought. _How can Mei-Ling do this for a living?_ Still, there was no denying that it paid well. A flurry of pound notes was now raining onto the stage. With a leisurely movement, she wrapped her calf around the pole and executed a slow rotation. 

_When I'm ridin' round the world..._

Turning her back to the crowd, she bent over deeply, tossing her auburn mane as she looked over her right shoulder. Some young Italian bravos were seated at a table in the second row. What was it that Steed had said about organized crime? Money continued to pelt the stage apron; the view she was presenting seemed very popular with the crowd. 

_Baby, better come back—maybe next week..._

What the spectators took for a sexy pout was actually a look of concentration. She focused her attention on the clothes and grooming habits of each of the patrons. As Mei-Ling had told her at the dojo, most of the customers indeed seemed to be quite wealthy. Hardly the type to engage in a snatch-and-grab of an Oriental stripper. 

Emma looked at the stage floor and did some quick mental addition. She wasn't even fully nude, and in three minutes she had probably raked in more than a karate instructor would make in a week. For a moment she was swept up in the fantasy of the role she was playing: the audience loved her. She wickedly imagined herself handing Steed her new business card: _Emmanuelle Peels, Pole Dancer._

_I can't get no, oh no no no!_

They could yell all they wanted; she had no intention of removing her only remaining article of clothing. She secretly thanked Steed for his earlier visit that had caused her to change into the more conservative bikini outfit. Emma doubted that she had enough nerve to appear in the scanty strip of fabric and G-string, even with the mask. It was bad enough that she had to go topless. 

_Hey hey hey, that's what I say..._

A Chinese gentleman was sitting off to one side, immaculately dressed in a three-piece suit. He was surrounded by manservants who were very generous with their contributions to the stage on his behalf. Emma pondered for a moment. Mei-Ling was part Chinese. It was a tenuous connection, but if it turned out to be a domestic issue, this man would be the most likely candidate among the customers. 

Emma almost lost her footing as the Oriental smiled evilly back at her. He had noticed her attentions. That was bad; if he really was some sort of criminal, he might perceive her as a threat. He discreetly made a signal with his hand, although she couldn't detect who the recipient was. She would need to be on her guard. 

_No satisfaction... no satisfaction... no satisfaction!_

As the final strains of the song faded out, the audience broke into frenzied applause, drowning out the boos of those asking for more. They could shout away; she wasn't giving any encores. Emma rushed off stage, enjoying the cool air that greeted her when she got out from under the hot lights. She didn't realize she had worked up such a sweat. The manager was waiting in the wings with a look of exasperation on his face. 

"You're supposed to take everything off!" 

"Get me a shirt," she ordered sternly. 

"I guess I can't complain." He offered her a container of water, which she gulped gratefully. "Even half-dressed, you're a crowd-pleaser." The manager left, ostensibly to return with some clothing for her. 

Emma doubted she would need to be around for tomorrow night's show. That Chinese gentleman in the audience—something about him had set off her instincts. She would make inquiries, find out who he was. If it led to a dead end, she could always show up to dance again. Where was the manager with that shirt? 

Suddenly Emma recognized the sickly sweet smell of opium. She turned to run, but her vision was already getting blurry. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the manager laughing near the doorway, as if in slow-motion. The water had been drugged. Several hooded men charged her from every side, and she rapidly found herself too weak to resist. In the middle of it all was the fiendish-looking Oriental she had seen in the audience earlier. He had changed clothes, out of his suit and into traditional Mandarin garb. 

But it wasn't his dark purple robes and sinister Fu Manchu moustache that caused a shiver of fear to run through her body. It was the sight of the creature that lurked behind him, hidden in darkness. As it emerged from the shadows, she saw it through her drug-induced haze. 

It was a green-scaled dragon. 

-oOo-


	3. Subjugation

**Chapter 3**

Emma Peel was curled up like a cat on the polished floor. A warm sensation enveloped her body; she lazily stretched both arms over her head and yawned as she stirred back to consciousness. A cool breeze rippled across her bare breasts, and she suddenly realized she had nothing on but the black panties she was wearing when she left the stage disguised as a stripper—how long ago? Emma also noticed with dismay that her mask had been removed, and her feeling of exposure increased when she recognized a familiar sinister figure. He stood at the darkened end of the large room where she found herself prisoner. 

"I am Lo-Chen," he began. "And this," he added, dramatically indicating a dim shape beside him, "is my Dragon." 

Emma shook her head to clear out the cobwebs. Her last memory had been of a dragon lumbering behind the perverse Chinese gentleman. A burst of flame spouted from the outline of the thing's head, illuminating some green-scaled skin. Dragon, indeed. The creature started moving in her direction as she rose. 

Her feet were now bare; better for speed and maneuverability, but the stiletto-heeled leather dancing boots would have been more useful, since they could have served as weapons. She quickly looked to either side for an exit that she could sprint to, but none was in sight. 

"Where is Mei-Ling?" Emma demanded. 

"Like her, I take it that you fancy yourself to be quite the fighter," Lo-Chen said tonelessly. "It is therefore proper that you be subjugated prior to your enslavement." 

_Enslavement!_ Emma's eyes darted around the room looking for a weapon she could use against her captors. Unbelievably, hanging on the wall less than a dozen feet behind her was a wicked _liuyedao_ blade. She ran towards the display and wrested it free from its mounting. With her wide-ranging fencing skills, she should be able to use it to make short work of her adversary. 

"Your Dragon is about to lose its claws," she announced defiantly. Emma emphasized her point by swinging the deadly sword to slice through the air in front of her. 

Lo-Chen merely inclined his head and gestured towards the shadowed form with a sweep of his hand. "We shall see." 

His casual manner unnerved her, but the blade in her hands was solid enough; more than sufficient to handle whatever beast lurked at the far end of the room. And now she knew that Lo-Chen was definitely the abductor of Mei-Ling. 

There was a mechanical click, and a threatening fireball sailed past her right ear. Emma nimbly dodged a second one as the Dragon continued to approach. Then the menacing figure emerged into the light cast by the single bulb overhead. She realized with a shock that it was not a reptilian creature at all, but a man with green scaly tattoos that made him look like a dragon. The fire was created when he took mouthfuls of flammable liquid from a container on his wrist and ignited it with something in his left hand as he spewed it forth. On his head was a steel visor encrusted with rubies, and she could detect his dark eyes behind two small slits cut in the front. Emma hesitated for only a second; man or no, she still had to defeat her opponent to escape the enslavement Lo-Chen had mentioned. 

Her first priority was to neutralize his flame weapon, which he could use against her while staying out of sword range. Emma made a few crafty feints and then hacked along the Dragon's right wrist. For some reason, the blade didn't penetrate his skin; but the slice did send the container of flammable oil crashing to the floor, where it spilled into a puddle. The Dragon Man pressed forward, unconcerned by her attack. He dropped the igniter and extended both hands towards her, angling for a stranglehold. 

She started swinging the saber in earnest, alarmed that her enemy wasn't retreating. Didn't he realize he could be seriously wounded? Emma hacked at his forearm with more boldness, startled to see the edge glance harmlessly away. Why wouldn't the blade cut him? 

Desperation set in as she stabbed directly at him. The blade deflected as it hit his chest, and Emma could feel the shock of contact through her arm. Was he an automaton, made of some kind of metal? The Dragon swung a mighty fist in her direction and effortlessly knocked the sword from her hand. The blow that slammed her wrist felt like warm flesh, not metal or plastic. 

Emma had to react quickly now that she had been disarmed. If the Dragon _was_ an actual living man, he would have the vulnerabilities inherent to his gender. He was probably wearing protection in his loincloth, but it wouldn't hurt to try. As she closed in once more, she grabbed his shoulders with a viselike grip and rammed her knee squarely into his groin. She was surprised to feel it sink unhindered into his bull-like genitalia, sufficient to incapacitate any man for a half hour or more. He didn't flinch. 

Using her superior speed to slip around behind him, Emma slid her hands from the Dragon's shoulders to his neck as she jumped on his back. Now she could fully feel his skin beneath her hands; it was warm and pulsing flesh. She couldn't explain her inability to harm him with the blade, nor his resistance to the most agonizing pain that could be inflicted on a man, but she was determined to be victorious. 

With a powerful wrenching motion, she tried to twist his neck. It wouldn't budge. Her arms and hands searched for purchase, trying to locate a pressure point. Now she had him. 

She had maneuvered a forearm across his carotid artery and was levering it with her other hand. The classic sleeper hold. Emma held it for a full minute or more, amazed at her foe's ability to remain standing without blood flow to his brain. She used her body to push forward on the back of his head, hoping to restrict his airway as well. He should collapse at any second. 

His body started shaking beneath her. Emma frowned. Her hold shouldn't have caused spasms; it should have caused unconsciousness. A deep rumbling sound came from the Dragon Man's throat, and she realized in horror that it was laughter. 

The Dragon Man suddenly burst into action, shrugging her off like a rag doll onto the floor. He loomed intimidatingly over her. Emma's blood ran cold when she heard his Chinese master give him an order. 

"Don't damage the face," Lo-Chen advised calmly. 

Emma jumped up and ran, but could still locate no doors; they must be hidden, somehow. She turned to make a last-ditch defense, then saw that her opponent was standing in the puddle of flammable oil. Acting on pure instinct, Emma dived towards the Dragon Man and scooped up the igniter on the floor. There was a single mechanical click, then an inferno rose up to engulf the giant. The heat forced her to back away several feet, into a corner. It was a terrible, horrific way to die. But there had been no other choice. 

She shook her head in disbelief and panic as the Dragon Man walked casually from the fire, the flames on his skin subsiding as the fuel was spent. Emma was so stunned she forgot to move until he was directly upon her. The Dragon Man slapped the palm of his beefy hand once across her face; then he sank his fist into the pit of her belly. With the slightest twitch from his ankle, he scythed her feet out from under her, sending her down. 

She lay on the floor, trembling. For all her earlier bravado, she now felt as naked as she appeared. Emma knew she would have to wait until the Dragon Man was not around for her chance to escape. He could not be defeated. 

Lo-Chen smiled. "Bring her to the exhibit area." 

-oOo-

Moo-Po was seated opposite John Steed at a small table in the rear of his herb shop. He idly scooped up handfuls of buttons that were spread out in front of him. 

Steed leaned over earnestly. "Do you know where Mei-Ling might have gone? To visit a family member, perhaps, or a lover?" 

Moo-Po shook his head. "She never came back from dancing two nights ago. I would have called the authorities, but as you can understand, I do not wish to call attention to my business here." 

"Is there anything you can do to help locate her? Maybe some underworld contacts you can ask." 

Moo-Po looked thoughtful. "Make some tea, Mr. Steed. Do not use a strainer." 

Steed went to the small hot plate where a kettle was waiting. He brought it to a rapid boil. Suddenly realizing the gray-haired man's objective, he wryly commented, "Reading tea leaves is a Middle Eastern tradition, Mr. Wong." 

"Call me Moo-Po. Oriental fortune-telling is like eating at a Chinese restaurant. We take a little something from Column A, a little something from Column B, two things from Column C—what you British would call a 'hodgepodge'." 

Steed made two cups of tea and set one of them down in front of Moo-Po. They sipped slowly for a minute, then the gray-haired man decanted his remaining tea into his saucer. Steed shouldered in next to him as he examined the bottom of the cup. 

"The Snake," Moo-Po observed. He closed his eyes in psychic concentration, then announced, "Mei-Ling has been abducted, but she is still alive. We must determine where she is being held." He poured the tea from the saucer back into the cup, then took a dish from a nearby cupboard. 

"This is the Earth Plate," Moo-Po explained as he waved it at Steed. "And this," he added, holding up the saucer, "is the Heaven Plate." 

"That's a saucer," Steed offered. 

"Please attend." Moo-Po seated himself at the table and balanced the saucer on its edge in the middle of the plate. An impossible state of equilibrium, thought Steed. With a delicate flick of his fingertip, Moo-Po set the saucer spinning. It rotated hypnotically for nearly a minute, then crashed to a stop near the right edge of the plate. 

"South. Towards the river." Moo-Po sighed. "I believe Mei-Ling is being held by Lo-Chen." 

Steed looked skeptical. "How in the world could you come up with an actual name from some tea leaves and dinnerware?" 

"The other night I was drinking _shaojiu_ with one of the fan-tan players. Before we lost consciousness, he mentioned that a friend of his who worked for Lo-Chen had been found drowned in the river. 'That Lo-Chen,' he says, 'is _xie e_ —great evil.'" 

"I see," said Steed, not sure that he saw anything at all. 

"And according to the plates, Mei-Ling is currently somewhere along a line that points directly into Lo-Chen's territory," Moo-Po declared smugly. 

-oOo-

The room was large, with a number of wooden stocks running horizontally along one wall. Virtually all of them were filled with captive women on display. Emma had been confined in one of these, her neck and wrists closely encircled, though at least her feet were still free. Like many of the other prisoners, no additional clothing had been provided for her. 

She had still been dazed from her fight with the Dragon Man when the guards placed her here. As she studied her surroundings, looking for possible escape, Emma turned her head and was astonished to find that the woman directly next to her was the object of her quest. 

"Hello, Mei-Ling," she began. 

"Emma?" Mei-Ling's eyes widened at the sound of a familiar voice. "How on earth did you get here?" 

"I was searching for you." 

Mei-Ling reached over with her foot and caressed Emma's calf with her toe. 

"Thank you. I don't know of anyone else who would have come for me." 

"You're welcome," Emma sighed. "The question is, who's going to come searching for _me?_ " 

"You don't even need to ask," Mei-Ling chided. "That man Steed will come after you." 

"I doubt it." 

"Haven't you ever seen the way he looks at you?" 

Emma struggled futilely to slip her wrists out of the tight-fitting wooden holes, causing her bare breasts to swing from side to side in a very undignified manner. "Good thing he can't see me now," she remarked. 

Mei-Ling furrowed her brow. "I don't understand. Are you saying that Steed doesn't care enough to come for you?" 

"It's not that," Emma shook her head. "I ordered him to stay away, said that it was none of his business. I made him promise not to follow me." 

"Ouch. Bet you're regretting that now." 

"I'm not sure it would have mattered anyway," Emma added. "I was made a prisoner by a man who seems completely invulnerable to attack." 

Mei-Ling nodded. "The Dragon." 

"So you met him, too?" 

"He's Lo-Chen's enforcer. A bull of a man, completely unable to feel pain. I fought him two nights ago," Mei-Ling explained. "It did not last long." 

"I fought him just an hour ago," Emma said. "But I think you're missing the mark when you say he can't feel any pain—there's more to it than that. The Dragon Man feels no pain because he sustains no damage during the fight. I hacked and stabbed him repeatedly with a _liuyedao_ sword, but he was never cut; the blade just glanced off his skin." 

"Perhaps it was a trick sword." 

"It seemed real enough to me," Emma countered. "It could cut everything _but_ him." 

Mei-Ling looked thoughtful. "I tried to crush his throat, but it was like smashing my fist against stone." 

Emma nodded. "I went for a neck twist, but it seemed to be welded to his shoulders. And I won't even try to describe his fire-walking trick." 

"So neither one of us had any success," Mei-Ling lamented. "I should have tried to kick him where it hurts." 

Emma shook her head. "Believe me, I did; as hard as I could. The man must be a eunuch. Or if he wasn't before, he is now." 

Mei-Ling chuckled. "At least you lasted longer than I did. You're a very skilled fighter." 

Emma was silent for a moment. "I'm afraid I let him get to me," she confessed, recalling her subjugation at the hands of the Dragon Man. "I panicked a bit. But I feel better now. It was just the shock of having an opponent who seemed so invincible. Do you have any idea why Lo-Chen is doing this?" 

"Haven't you guessed?" Mei-Ling asked. "They're going to sell us." 

" _Sell_ us?" Her head reeled in anger at the sheer effrontery of it. 

"Yes, to the highest bidder. And with these rich oil sheiks wanting to fill their harems, the price can go pretty high." 

"I take it we won't be given any clothes?" 

Mei-Ling shook her head. "Just what we have on. This is for the buyers." She allowed her gaze to linger appreciatively on Emma's body. "I have to admit, it probably doubles the amount Lo-Chen will get for you." 

Emma gave a sarcastic laugh. "When I escape here, that price will seem miniscule compared to the payment I will exact." 

"Do you have a plan?" 

"Not yet. But I will, and I wouldn't want to be Lo-Chen when I get him alone. During the past two days, have you noticed any opportunities to get free?" 

"Typically after the sale, the Dragon Man leaves with Lo-Chen, and we go back to our cells under ordinary guard. That's the best time." 

"You've already been through this before? 

"Just once." 

"You're lucky no one bought you," Emma commented. "You're certainly attractive enough." 

Mei-Ling smiled as she once again rubbed her toe playfully against Emma's calf. 

"It seems that they don't favor Oriental women, or women who are too muscular," she explained. "But you're just the right combination. You'll be the property of some Arab prince by morning." 

-oOo-

Steed walked a few steps behind the disheveled herbalist as they returned to Mei-Ling's nightclub. The Elan was still there, parked in front of the Bentley. 

"This is Mrs. Peel's car," he explained to Moo-Po. "She's an associate of mine; she must still be inside." 

"Dancing?" Moo-Po asked. 

"If she did, I'm sure it was a most singular performance." 

"You sound as if you would liked to have seen it." 

"Desperately. But I made a promise not to follow her, and I intend to keep it." Steed directed Moo-Po to the rear entrance of the building. "You go inside, see if you can find her, and tell her you may have a line on Mei-Ling. Mrs. Peel will definitely want to hear your deductions. Just don't mention the tea leaves or the spinning saucers." 

Steed waited for a minute while the gray-haired man vanished through the back door. Shortly, Moo-Po returned, shaking his head. "The manager says he knows of no one named Mrs. Peel, and that all the girls have gone home for the night." 

"But her car's still here," Steed protested. 

Moo-Po nodded. "I will cast the I Ching," he announced, reaching into his pocket. "These are my fan-tan buttons." 

"Couldn't you just use any buttons?" 

"No, Mr. Steed. As you have seen, I have a special relationship with them." 

They both squatted down to the pavement as Moo-Po tossed six rows of three buttons. He closely examined the result. 

"The Hăng Hexagram," he remarked. "Wind and thunder." 

"If they've abducted Mrs. Peel, I can imagine the wind and thunder they're having to endure," Steed said wryly. 

"It indicates there are obstacles to be overcome, but ultimately, the good will prevail," Moo-Po continued. 

"Always good to know," Steed remarked impatiently. "Do you know where this Lo-Chen might be keeping hostages, assuming he's abducted them?" 

"Lo-Chen has a warehouse down on the waterfront." 

"Do you know the way?" 

"Yes, but it is far too dangerous. We'd best return to the herb shop." 

"Of course," Steed agreed enthusiastically. "We can stop by the Tong headquarters on the way, and you can show them some button tricks." 

"Are you blackmailing me, Mr. Steed?" 

"Merely encouraging you, Moo-Po. We go to the warehouse." 

"Very well; follow me. But remember, I did warn you. This Mrs. Peel must mean very much to you." 

"The world. But have you forgotten? I'm just looking for Mei-Ling." 

Leaving the club, they traversed a series of dark alleyways until they came to a massive brick structure looming in the moonlight. The cornerstone indicated it had been built in the twenties. 

"Warehouse?" Steed commented. "This thing looks more like a castle." 

Moo-Po nodded grimly. "With Lo-Chen's powers, we will find it as well-defended as any castle." 

"His powers?" 

"Magic, Mr. Steed. Chinese magic." 

Steed scoffed. "There's no such thing." 

"Luckily, I possess a few powers myself," Moo-Po continued absently. 

They found a gap in the fencing that allowed them to approach the rear of the building. The door there was heavily reinforced with steel. Steed stepped forward, prepared to pick the lock, only to find it had a combination dial, like a vault. He shook his head. "Looks like we'll need another way in." 

Moo-Po reached in his pocket and gathered up ten buttons. He tossed them onto the pavement several times, counting the embossed sides after each throw. Then he picked up the buttons and spun the dial. The door opened with a click. 

Steed watched incredulously. "You're not trying to tell me you got the combination from those buttons?" 

"I'm not trying to tell you anything, Mr. Steed. Please follow." 

Steed groped around and found a light switch just inside the door. The corridor it illuminated was empty, but immediately after they entered, a shuffling sound echoed off the walls. Three wicked-looking snakes came slithering down the hallway to bar their path. 

"The serpent guardians," Moo-Po observed. "Lo-Chen controls them." 

"Kind of like an Oriental Saint Patrick?" Steed offered. He tried to scoop at the closest snake's neck with the handle of his umbrella, but it was too quick. It lunged at him, trying to sink its fangs into his neck. He barely managed to grab his bowler in time and use it as a shield, the metal crown blocking the strike. 

"We could use some help from Old Paddy now," he observed. 

-oOo-

Emma stared idly at the opposite wall. As Mei-Ling had suggested, she was regretting her harsh words forbidding Steed from following her. He was only trying to help—and on more than one occasion, he had asked her to help him. Steed probably felt about double agents and spies the same way she felt about Lo-Chen and his skin trade—vehemently opposed. And when facing enemies like these, it was always a comfort to know that you weren't alone. 

While she was confident of her own abilities, Emma had to confess it would have made her feel better to know that Steed was with her, fighting the same foe. For the first time, she understood what it must be like for him, knowing that she was by his side. They functioned more as equals, partners. Having him look out for her didn't make her any less of a woman, than Steed having her along in Europe last year made him any less of a man. She remembered the platonic beds they had shared during their time there and felt a warm flush of arousal between her thighs. She pressed her legs tightly together and tried to concentrate on a plan to escape. 

"Thinking of Steed?" Mei-Ling asked. 

Emma sighed. "Does it show?" 

"Either that, or someone opened a door to let a cool breeze in." 

As if on cue, the door actually did open, and Lo-Chen entered, followed by the Dragon and several robed gentlemen. These would be the Arab sheiks that Mei-Ling mentioned. Emma looked pensively at the crowd gathering on the opposite side of the room. "What now, I wonder?" 

"The auction," Mei-Ling answered. 

Emma was seething. The idea of being displayed to these men, humiliated and half-clothed, like a piece of chattel. Lo-Chen engaged in a series of hand gestures with the Arabs. This went on for several minutes, and just when all of the signaling had ceased, a short, bearded Saudi emir tapped two fingers on his forearm. 

"He's a sniper," Mei-Ling mused. 

"An assassin?" Emma asked. 

"No, no, no. A person who comes in with a last-second bid, after all the other bidders think the auction is done." 

"It looks like he's the winner." 

Mei-Ling nodded. "Twenty thousand pounds. Now you can understand Lo-Chen's motivation." 

Two Oriental guards came over. One held a gun on Mei-Ling while the other unlocked the stocks that confined her head and wrists. Leg shackles were placed loosely around her ankles, and her hands were handcuffed behind her back. 

"It seems you have been chosen this time," Emma commented. 

Mei-Ling ruefully shook her head. "I'm afraid not, dearest Emma. I've been through this before; they're leading me back to my cell. It is you that have been purchased." 

Emma felt a numbing shock through her body as the comical-looking Saudi looked at her and grinned. She struggled violently to free herself from the stocks with Mei-Ling's words still ringing in her ears: 

_It is you that have been purchased!_

-oOo-


	4. Chinese Magic

**Chapter 4**

The moonlight flickered through broken clouds, illuminating the abandoned lot behind a warehouse in the part of London known as "Dark China." Two men stood in the open doorway of a lit corridor. They could advance no further into the building; several snakes blocked their path, writhing in a tangled mass as they confronted the trespassers. 

"I'm no herpetologist," Steed began, "but these look like a poisonous variety." 

"Very dangerous," Moo-Po agreed. 

Steed ineffectively poked the closest snake with the tip of his umbrella. "Perhaps you should throw some buttons at them," he suggested. 

"They don't work that way, Mr. Steed." 

"Just how _do_ they work, anyway?" 

Moo-Po smiled cryptically. "I will order the snakes away." 

"Don't you need a flute and a basket for that?" 

"Snakes don't have ears," Moo-Po said, deep in concentration. "They only react to motion and vibration." He rubbed his palms vigorously together, then clapped once. The snakes hissed and rose as Moo-Po held his hand chest high, palm towards them. He bowed his head and hummed monotonously. Steed could have sworn that the hand was blurred, as if rapidly in motion. The snakes seemed lulled for a moment. Then they turned and slithered off down the hallway. 

"You should have told one of them to bring back a pint while you were at it," Steed grinned. "I'm a bit thirsty." 

"They are dumb creatures, easy to control," Moo-Po explained. "But when they report back to Lo-Chen, he will know we are here. We must move quickly." 

Moo-Po led and Steed followed as they moved stealthily down the shabby brick-and-mortar corridor. The air had a dank smell, and the only lighting was an occasional bare bulb hanging from the low wood ceiling. A larger passageway intersected their hallway, and Steed peeped around the edge. 

A beautiful Oriental woman was being prodded along with her hands tightly cuffed behind her back. She wore nothing but a black G-string, identical to the one that he had last seen Mrs. Peel wearing. In spite of the leg shackles on his prisoner, the guard with the gun still stayed a respectful distance behind her, close enough for a good shot, but far enough to evade any sudden movement. Steed immediately guessed at the captive's identity. 

"Is that Mei-Ling?" he asked. 

Moo-Po peeked around the corner and nodded. Then he boldly stepped forward and faced the party. 

"Moo-Po!" Steed hissed in warning. 

The gray-haired man rubbed his palms together and clapped again. Then he held his hand directly in the guard's line-of-sight and hummed. The vibration seemed to hypnotize the guard. 

"The keys," Moo-Po whispered. Steed carefully removed the ring from the mesmerized guard's waist and unlocked Mei-Ling's handcuffs, trying to avoid staring at her modest chest. 

She gave him a dazzling smile as she took the keys to unlock her leg shackles. Then, without taking her eyes off Steed, she fired a kick backwards into the pit of her captor's stomach, followed it with a back heel that caught him flush on the shin, and finished off by snapping the sole of her foot sharply between his legs. Mei-Ling winked flirtatiously at Steed as the guard behind her grimaced and stumbled forward, clutching his groin. As the man collapsed past her, she struck his ribs with her instep, driving the breath out of him as he sank the floor. 

"All without looking," Steed said in admiration. "You must be Mei-Ling." Now he knew who taught Mrs. Peel all of her fighting tricks. He politely diverted his eyes from her half-nude state, though she made no attempt to cover herself. 

"And I only used one foot," she boasted sweetly. "You're John Steed. I thought you promised Emma you wouldn't follow her?" 

"I wasn't following her; I was looking for _you_. Is Mrs. Peel here?" 

"You were looking for me?" Mei-Ling moved in closer to Steed, pressing her bare chest into his shoulder. "I will have to find a way to thank you." She slipped her arms around his neck, and pulled him close enough so she could nuzzle one of his ears. 

"Mrs. Peel?" Steed reminded her. 

Mei-Ling indicated, "Just through that door. She's being shown to her buyer." 

" _Buyer?_ " Steed countered in alarm. "What exactly is going on here?" 

Mei-Ling nodded respectfully to the elder Oriental standing next to Steed. "Thanks for the diversion, Moo-Po. You really need to teach me that palm trick." She turned to answer Steed. 

"A man named Lo-Chen is making good money by abducting strippers and call girls, then selling them to Arabian interests as odalisques." 

"Mrs. Peel has been sold into a harem?" 

"Emma _is_ very attractive, John. Why would that surprise you?" 

"The surprise will be on the sheik who tries to tame her. Mrs. Peel is not one to take captivity in stride," Steed observed. 

"Why do you call her Mrs. Peel?" 

"Because she was once married. Before that, she was Miss Knight." 

"Oh, never mind," Mei-Ling said. "The exhibit area is this way." She motioned for the men to follow her as she moved quietly towards end of the passage. The door at the end was solid, but the walls nearby were made of wooden slats. The three of them knelt down next to the door and Mei-Ling raised a louver for them to peek through. They saw a short, bearded gentleman in a white robe closely inspecting a woman confined in stocks along the far wall. 

"That's the emir who had the winning bid," Mei-Ling explained. 

As the Arab moved to one side, Steed couldn't believe his eyes. The woman imprisoned on the far wall was Mrs. Peel. She was in the same state of undress as when he had last seen her: topless, although she had replaced her G-string with more conservative bikini panties. Moo-Po pressed in close to Steed's shoulder. 

"Is that Mrs. Peel?" he asked. 

Steed was still speechless; he merely nodded. 

" _Ah, a flower with the delicacy of a lotus blossom...,_ " Moo-Po said, enraptured. As they watched, Emma lifted her feet off the ground and supported herself in the wooden stocks, hanging only by her wrists. Then she lunged her lower body forward and locked her thighs around the neck of the emir. The poor man struggled feebly against her powerful grip. 

" _...and the strength and hardness of stone,_ " Moo-Po continued. The emir's face had turned beet red by the time the guards managed to pry Emma's legs apart. He sank to the floor, gasping in agony. A guard stepped forward to slap Emma; she flashed her foot high and caught him squarely on the side of his head. 

"Don't forget the bite of a tiger," Steed added wryly. The stunned guard spun dizzily for a moment before falling to the ground. Mei-Ling nodded approvingly. 

"I knew she could do a thigh strangulation," Mei-Ling smirked. "I told her she was strong enough." 

The emir appeared both angry and excited. He had probably never suffered such humiliation at the hands of a woman before, but would look forward to the challenge that Emma would offer. 

"What will they do with her now?" Moo-Po asked. 

"She'll be safe for the time being," Mei-Ling answered. "In fact, they'll treat her very carefully, now that she's a piece of purchased property." 

"Mrs. Peel is no man's property," Steed said darkly. 

Several guards were now wrestling leg shackles onto Emma's ankles, taking care to avoid the kicks that she aimed at them, particularly the low ones which caught a few unaware and sent them groaning to the floor. 

"We have to get in there," Steed bristled. 

"Believe me, she'll be fine," Mei-Ling said reassuringly. "It's us you have to worry about. Here comes the Dragon." 

A dark silhouette briefly blocked their vision as it moved through the center of the room. Steed thought he caught sight of some green scales. 

"A dragon?" he asked incredulously. 

" _The_ Dragon," Mei-Ling corrected. "Quick, we must hide." She led the two men behind a decorated folding screen farther down the hallway. They peeked through the hinged gap as the mammoth figure came through the door. Steed turned to the gray-haired Oriental. 

"Moo-Po, can you do that palm trick?" he asked in a low voice. 

"If he tried and failed, we'd all be captured," Mei-Ling protested. Steed removed his jacket and draped it over Mei-Ling's shoulders. 

"Thank you, John." 

"Call me Steed." 

The sinister shape loomed closer as the three of them fell into complete silence. They watched in amazement as the Dragon shambled past. Steed took careful notice of the ruby-encrusted visor as the leviathan vanished through another door. 

Mei-Ling pressed her lips close to his ear. "That, dearest Steed, was the Dragon." 

"He's a man," Steed countered. 

"You wouldn't say that if you'd fought him," she said. "Without his presence, Emma and I wouldn't still be here. We're more than enough to overpower Lo-Chen's regular guards, as you've seen. But no one beats the Dragon." 

"Why is that?" 

"Because he can't be injured, that's why. We tried a variety of techniques—Emma even used a sword on him." 

"And he couldn't be hurt?" 

Mei-Ling shook her head. "Not that we could tell." 

"Interesting visor," Steed mused. "Perhaps it's not just for decorative purposes. Maybe his eyes are vulnerable to attack, and it's there for protection." 

"Why would his eyes be the only vulnerable part?" Mei-Ling asked. "And how is it that his skin can resist a steel blade? Emma swore that she hacked him repeatedly. No cuts. She also claims to have set him on fire." 

"My, she _has_ been busy," Steed commented wryly. 

Moo-Po looked thoughtful for a moment, then scratched his chin. "I have heard of a potent magic called _Liao-lung_ —'Paint of the Dragon'." 

"Paint?" Steed prompted. 

Moo-Po nodded. "A special paint described in Chinese mythology, used to protect warriors of the Shang Dynasty. When applied to the skin, it was said to make it impervious to any blade or attack." 

An expression of enlightenment passed over Mei-Ling's face. "Yes, the dragon scales on his skin could have been painted on." 

"And that protects the surface of his skin as well as what's inside?" Steed asked. 

Mei-Ling shrugged. "That would appear to be the case." 

"So Lo-Chen has some of this stuff, this _Liao-lung,_ " Steed declared. "It must be stored somewhere on the premises, in case the Dragon needs a touch-up." 

"That seems reasonable," Mei-Ling answered. 

"You don't have any idea where there might be storerooms in this compound?" 

She shook her head. "I spent most of my time in the cell or the stocks." 

Steed looked to each of his companions in turn. 

"Then we have to chase the Dragon," he concluded. 

-oOo-

Emma was being escorted back to her holding cell with her wrists handcuffed behind her back and her ankles in shackles. The guard behind her was still in a daze from the foot she had landed to the side of his head. She smiled in satisfaction. Just one quick kick to his solar plexus, and the man would crumple like a house of cards. All she had to do was wait for the opportunity. 

Lo-Chen's operation was rather sloppy. They had seen her abilities, but had failed to replace her guard. Perhaps it was just male pride that kept them from acknowledging any attack made by a woman. 

The guard stopped to unlock her cell door, then turned to face her. His torso was exposed and unprotected, an inviting target. Emma obliged by leaping forward and planting both feet squarely in the center of his chest. The guard hit the wall, then pitched forward, the wind knocked out of him. Emma used the play in the shackles to bring her knee up into his chin as he fell; an effective upper cut. He collapsed to the floor. 

Now came the unpleasant task of blindly groping through the man's pockets behind her back in search of keys. She wasted several valuable minutes in danger of exposure before she found them. With her hands and feet finally free, she dragged the guard into her cell and locked it, then sprinted off down the passageway. 

-oOo-

The stronghold of Lo-Chen was filled with Oriental folding screens, perfect cover for intruders that hoped to avoid detection. While Emma was taking advantage of them at one end of the warehouse, Steed and his party were half a building away, using the same technique. 

They sneaked from screen to screen in pursuit of the Dragon. The painted giant entered a separate suite of luxuriously furnished rooms off the main corridor. He closed the door behind him; Steed could see that it had a dial combination lock, just like the outside door to the warehouse. 

"That must be the inner sanctum," Steed whispered. "And it answers the unpleasant question of where the Dragon would hide the key without pockets." 

A minute later, the Dragon re-emerged and locked the door behind him, spinning the dial. The party waited until he vanished around the corner. 

"Watch this, Steed," Mei-Ling said excitedly. "Moo-Po, do you have your buttons?" 

"I've already seen the trick," Steed smiled. Still, he watched in amazement as the gray-haired man tossed the buttons and divined the combination to the lock. 

They carefully entered the suite, alert for the presence of anyone inside; but the place was empty. They split up to search the individual rooms, until Moo-Po called them over to a utility room with a steel-grate door set in brick. 

Mei-Ling had found a piece of cloth that she had knotted across her breasts, and she returned Steed's jacket. He searched under one lapel until he produced some primitive lockpicks. After a minute of effort, Steed swung the cage-like door open. 

Moo-Po's instincts had been correct. As they switched on the bare bulb overhead, they found several tin containers of paint. Steed pried one open. It was the same reptilian green as the Dragon's skin. 

"Eureka," he said casually. "This could be the rub." 

Mei-Ling sat down at a small table and motioned for Steed to sit opposite. He removed his umbrella and hung it on the edge of the chair, setting his bowler on top of it before draping his jacket over the back. Mei-Ling addressed him warmly. 

"Give me your hand, Steed." 

"We haven't even dated yet." 

Mei-Ling sighed and smiled. "To paint." She found a medium-sized brush and Steed extended his right hand, as if in preparation for a manicure. Mei-Ling covered the entire back of his hand with the green substance, all the way up to his wrist. She even found some black to delicately outline a scale pattern. Mei-Ling presented her work with a flourish. 

"There you go. Your very own dragon claw." She lightly poked it with the tip of a utility knife. "Do you feel anything?" 

"A vague sense of pressure. Virtually nothing." 

"Hai!" she shouted, plunging her fist downward in an attempt to drive the knife through the back of his hand. Steed watched in horror as the steel flashed towards his right hand, his _only_ right hand. He felt no sensation of contact, but the blade shattered dramatically into pieces. Steed looked at Mei-Ling with his guileless gray eyes. 

"I'd say this is definitely the Paint of the Dragon," he announced calmly. 

Mei-Ling had a mysterious grin. "Most men would have pulled their hand away at the last second." 

"I had the utmost faith in you, my dear." 

Mei-Ling leaned forward and kissed Steed on the corner of his mouth. 

"What was that for?" 

"I find your coolness under pressure intensely arousing, Mr. Steed." 

"Just Steed," he corrected with a smile. He turned to face Moo-Po. "Won't this clog my pores? Cause skin suffocation?" 

"It's not like regular paint made of pigment," Moo-Po explained. "It's a special coating." 

"Don't tell me," Steed said. "It's _magic._ " 

Moo-Po smiled. " _Chinese_ magic." 

They all turned their heads simultaneously as they heard a noise from the entryway. Moo-Po glanced through the steel grate. 

"The Dragon's outside!" he said in a harsh whisper. 

"Maybe he's come back for the aforementioned touch-up," Steed offered. There was no time to retrieve his jacket, bowler, or umbrella. He pocketed the bottle of black and grabbed two tin containers at random before sprinting for the room's only exit, with Moo-Po and Mei-Ling following close behind. As they rushed into the corridor, the Dragon was waiting for them with outstretched arms. In a panic, they ran in opposite directions; Moo-Po and Mei-Ling back towards the exhibit area, Steed farther into the depths of the warehouse. 

The Dragon Man smiled as he walked over to the wall and pulled a lever. The grinding sound of metal-on-stone echoed through the corridor as a heavy steel fire door slid into place, sealing Steed in the cellblock area of Lo-Chen's stronghold. The Dragon then lumbered off in pursuit of the two Orientals. 

-oOo-

Steed found himself trapped in a hallway lined with cell doors. He decided it was probably best to put as much distance as he could between himself and the spot he was last seen, so he started zigzagging haphazardly through the maze of corridors in the prison area of the warehouse. Eventually he came to a narrow passage that was unfinished lathwork; a service way, probably only for utility access. He squeezed through the space until he saw a patch of light in a crosshatch pattern on the wall. 

As he approached, Steed could see the illumination was coming through a heavy iron gate that blocked any further progress. He stole close to the bars and peered between them. A figure was standing in the middle of the room, facing away from him. 

Steed recognized the flawless peach-colored skin. He cleared his throat, watching with a grin as the occupant dived for cover. 

-oOo-


	5. The Golden Emma

**Chapter 5**

Emma poked her head from behind the Oriental folding screen she had used for concealment and examined the figure on the other side of the bars. 

"Steed?" she asked in surprise. He looked naked without his bowler, umbrella, or jacket. Remembering her own state, she hastily snatched the only piece of fabric she could find in the room, a thin veil, rolling it up in an effort to render it less transparent before knotting it across her breasts. 

"I thought you promised not to follow me!" she scolded angrily. 

Steed had turned his back while she covered up, even though the screen provided sufficient privacy. "I wasn't following you; I was looking for Mei-Ling. You just happened to be in the same place." 

Emma snorted. _So he found a loophole._ Steed turned back to face her and stuck one of his hands through the steel gate that separated them. In spite of her brave outer persona, Emma drew close and gave it a squeeze. It was then that she noticed the strange artwork that covered the back of his hand. 

"When did you get tattoos?" 

Steed grinned. "They're not tattoos; it's paint. Scratch me, Mrs. Peel." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Use your nails. Try to remove some skin." 

"Won't that hurt?" She tentatively raked her fingernails along his knuckles. 

"Harder," he prompted. 

Emma dug in wickedly, gaining more confidence as Steed gave no reaction to her gouging. He almost seemed to be enjoying it. Then she stopped to examine the area she had attacked, expecting to see welts and small crescents of blood. His hand was unmarked. She shook her head in confusion. 

"You're not hurt." 

He nodded. "The paint has special properties." 

Realization suddenly dawned on Emma. "And the Dragon Man..." 

"...is covered with it," Steed finished. "In case you were doubting your abilities, you would have done just as well to fight the wall." 

"But what is it? How can it possibly work?" 

"It's called _Liao-lung_. 'Paint of the Dragon'." 

"This substance, this _Liao-lung,_ does it make his skin impenetrable to blades and fire?" she asked. 

"Not only that," he answered, "but it prevents the bones and organs underneath from being affected by force or pressure." 

"That would explain the vault around the family jewels." 

"Eh?" 

"Nothing. Can we get out through there?" 

Steed shook his head. "The passage has been sealed off behind me by an imposing-looking fire door. What about your side?" 

"I don't know where it leads yet. I ducked in here when I heard the commotion. Can you open this gate?" 

"Not without some lockpicks." Steed smiled, patting his shirt sleeves. "No jacket." 

"You poor man. I'll see what I can find in here." Emma started rummaging through the contents in her room. "How did you paint your own right hand?" she asked conversationally. 

"I didn't. That's Mei-Ling's handiwork. The woman I came to rescue," he added smoothly. 

"You don't even know her." 

"I know her a lot better now," Steed teased. "She's quite friendly. You were right about her being smitten." 

Emma felt a flash of jealousy. "So Mei-Ling knew all about this Dragon Paint?" 

"No. The Chinese mythology lesson was courtesy of a man called Moo-Po Wong." 

"Moo-Po?" she asked, rolling the strange name around in her mouth. 

"A Chinese sorcerer friend of Mei-Ling's," Steed answered, pleased with his choice of words. It sounded so much better than 'runner of a crooked fan-tan game.' 

Emma triumphantly displayed a paper clip she had found. Steed took it and looked at her through the bars. 

"Ordinarily, I'd tease you about your clothing, or lack thereof," he continued. "But as it turns out, you're appropriately dressed for what I have in mind." 

A flash of irritation crossed Emma's face. "And that would be?" 

"When I get this open, we just walk out of this place together, arm in arm." 

"Through the Dragon Man?" 

"This time you can 'brush' him aside," Steed said with a smile. He held up the two tin containers of paint and some brushes. "Start applying this to your entire body." 

Emma stared at him incredulously. "Are you serious?" 

Steed grinned. "Unless you'd rather be serving grapes to the Sheik of Araby." 

She shook her head in surrender as she accepted the tins that Steed passed through the gate. "So that's why the Dragon wears a visor," she mused. 

"Yes," Steed nodded. "To protect the one part he can't paint: his eyes." 

Emma ducked back behind the folding screen as she pried open one of the tins. 

"Don't forget your scalp," Steed reminded her cheerily as he set to work on the lock. 

-oOo-

A click echoed through the room as Steed sprang the lock, and the steel gate swung open with a metallic squeal. 

"I'm almost dry," Emma called out from behind the screen. "Don't touch me, just in case." 

"Never without your permission, ma'am," Steed answered gallantly. 

She stepped out and sketched a quick curtsy. Steed caught his breath. 

Gone was the flawless peach-colored surface of her perfectly-toned skin. In its place was a shimmering expanse of pure gold. Her face was covered as well, and her hair was plastered back in thick rows where she had daubed paint between the roots to cover her scalp. Mrs. Peel's figure had always been superb to him, but until he saw it presented this way, like a prize trophy, he never appreciated its true magnificence. 

"Now you have a body of gold to match your heart of gold," he quipped. 

"I think I saw this in a movie once," she commented. "Where's the rest of the paint?" 

Steed shook his head. "Those two tins and this small bottle of black are all we have." He fished the jar out of his pocket that Mei-Ling had used to outline the scales. 

"But Steed! There's almost none left. The Dragon Man will tear you limb from limb." 

"Then you'll just have to see that he doesn't, Mrs. Peel," Steed said smoothly. 

Emma felt a flash of annoyance. Steed wasn't necessarily being noble by letting her use all the paint. Seen another way, he had just tricked her into doing all the fighting. 

He looked her over appraisingly. "Have you applied the paint everywhere?" he asked. 

Emma nodded. "All my fighting surfaces are covered." 

"There's none on your back." 

"Some skin has to be left unpainted, to allow the pores to breathe," she countered. 

"Not with this paint, according to Moo-Po." 

"And you want me to trust my life in the hands of some so-called Chinese sorcerer?" 

"He's very good with buttons," Steed offered wryly. "Must've been a tailor in a previous life. How much paint is left?" 

"There's half a tin." 

"Excellent. I'll do your back." 

"Oh, you will, will you?" Emma smirked. 

Steed grinned. "Unless your arms are double-jointed." 

She sighed and turned to offer her back to him. She tried to remain perfectly still as she felt the first cool dollop of paint roll over her skin. Steed's strokes were delicate and smooth; she involuntarily wriggled and felt her nipples harden. The sensation of having her body painted by someone else was completely different than doing it herself. She never knew exactly where the brush would touch, or how long the contact would be. The anticipation was almost erotic. 

Steed hesitated. "Mrs. Peel." 

"Yes," she answered uneasily. 

"There are other places you can't reach." 

"Just keep painting. Don't stop to admire the scenery," she said tartly. 

"But I would hate for any blade to mar this too, too solid flesh. And there are still some vulnerable spots that would be unprotected. Speaking purely from a medical viewpoint, it would be a terrible place to take an injury. It might ruin your career as an equestrian." 

The silence hung between them, unbroken, for several seconds. The only sound audible was that of Steed's brush strokes on her skin. 

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" 

"Every inch needs to be covered." 

"And your proposal is—?" 

Steed smiled cheerily. "While I'm back here, I'll just add a few splashes of gold to cover your London derriere." 

Emma tried to sound irritated. "I just want you to know that for the next few minutes, I'll be thinking only of the women enslaved here. Nothing else," she lied. Then she slipped her bikini panties down from her hips, exposing her backside to Steed. 

"Well? Aren't you going to make a smart comment?" she challenged. 

"Superb, Mrs. Peel." Steed sounded breathless. 

"Don't gawk," she scolded. "Paint." Emma stared straight ahead, not wanting to turn around and see the expression on Steed's face. The warmth between her thighs had become so intense that it nearly ached. She could feel the wet paint running over the virgin skin and cleavage of her behind as Steed continued his workmanlike performance. 

"Just the spots I can't reach," she prompted. "I can do the rest. Particularly the front," she warned as she felt the brush going lower and lower around the curve of her buttocks, in towards her thighs. Emma started laughing uncontrollably. 

"Thought of a joke?" 

"The brush tickles," she said angrily. "This is ridiculous." 

"If the bristles were any stiffer they might scratch or bruise. And this is a particularly... sensitive area..." Steed's voice trailed off in embarrassment. 

"Oh, so _now_ you're embarrassed. What are you up to back there?" Emma had to resist the urge to pull her panties back up while the paint was still wet. For the first time, she twisted her torso and cast her eyes downward to scrutinize Steed's handiwork. He had a broad grin on his face. Her eyes flashed. 

"What have you done?" She could see wavy black bands on top of the base of gold, running from her back down to her backside. 

She arched her eyebrow. "Tiger stripes?" 

"To confuse and frighten the enemy, Mrs. Peel. We used to do it to planes back in the war." 

"It's nice to know that you've given me the same consideration as a Lancaster bomber." 

"Also, I was starting to run out of the gold," Steed added. 

She twisted gymnastically in an effort to examine her newly-painted surfaces. "How does the coverage look?" 

"Perfection. You remind me of a statue of a Greek goddess. Diana, the Huntress." 

"On what do you base that comparison?" 

Steed grinned. "She _did_ go around with a Golden Hind." 

Emma wrinkled her mouth. "Perhaps it's time you went back and checked the passage. Maybe Mei-Ling and your sorcerer friend have found a way to open it. I have more painting to do. _Alone,_ " she added. 

Steed nodded his head seriously, handing over the brushes and paint. He lingered for a second, as if he intended to say something to her. Then he smiled and headed for the iron gate. 

"Back in a jiff," he said, ducking into the utility passage. 

Emma watched as he left. Then with a mischievous grin, she took the black paint and completed covering her thighs and torso with the stripes that he had started. 

-oOo-

Steed retraced his way back to the fire door. It was still locked, but he heard a muted thumping on the nearby plaster wall. Suddenly, a chunk broke free, and a freshly-formed hole about three inches in diameter opened up. An eye appeared and stared directly at him. 

He had already turned to run when he heard Mei-Ling's familiar voice. 

"Steed!" 

He stopped and ambled casually back to the opening. "Mei-Ling?" 

"Dearest Steed," she said normally. "Moo-Po and I are trapped in a closet next to the fire door. The Dragon was after us, and we rushed in here before realizing it would lock behind us. We're trying to break out. This looked like the weakest wall." 

"What are you using to break through?" 

"The only thing I can use—my foot. The closet only contains wicker baskets of laundry. Moo-Po has a small jerry can, but we don't want to risk losing its contents." 

"What are its contents?" Steed was almost afraid to ask. 

Moo-Po's voice came through the hole. "I believe I have something to remove the _Liao-lung._ " 

"More magic, Mr. Wong?" 

"Chinese magic, Mr. Steed." He opened the can and held the opening near the hole. It was filled with a clear, aromatic liquid. 

"What is this, holy turpentine?" But Steed understood Moo-Po's intent, and he dabbed the tip of his right index finger into the mixture. Mei-Ling's green-scaled handiwork disappeared, leaving a normal flesh-colored fingertip. 

Steed grinned. "I like you, Moo-Po. There are times when you're almost scrutable." 

-oOo-

Emma idly glanced at the walls while she waited for the paint on her secret areas to dry. Like many of the rooms in Lo-Chen's compound, it contained an ornamental weapons display. A wry grin crossed her face as she recognized two of the pieces of metal mounted there. She worked them loose, basking in the irony. 

They were hand weapons known as _bagh nakh_ , "Tiger Claws." Emma carefully fitted them across the palms of her hands and admired the result in the mirror. Just as the Dragon Man was a frightening rendition of a dragon, she could easily be his equal as a Tiger Woman. She made a slashing motion with the claw and made a "grr"-ing sound at the image in the mirror. Her thoughts wandered towards the memory of her earlier defeat and humiliation at the hands of the Dragon. 

"Tonight will be your undoing, Dragon Man," she said aloud. "You can't have paint everywhere." 

Impatient for action, Emma slipped through the iron gate and into the lathwork utility passage that Steed had used. Which direction had he taken? 

"Steed?" she called tentatively. "Steed, where are you?" 

She came out into one of the main corridors of the cellblock. A noise sounded from behind one of the steel doors down the hall. Emma advanced catlike, on the balls of her feet, clinching the Tiger Claws tightly in her hands. When she arrived at the outside of the door, she cautiously pressed her ear to it. 

A familiar scuffling sound came from the end of the passage. The Dragon was coming. Emma quickly slipped inside of the room and eased the door shut behind her. To her dismay, the Dragon's footsteps stopped immediately outside. He knew she was in here. She carefully backed towards the center of the pitch-black chamber and groped behind her for one of those convenient Oriental folding screens that gave such good cover. 

The lights snapped on with a brilliant blaze and Emma had to squint from the intensity. She could just make out the diabolical mastermind in purple robes at the far end of the room. 

He twisted one end of his braided Fu Manchu moustache and gave her an evil smile. 

"Welcome." 

-oOo-


	6. Tiger Vs. Dragon

**Chapter 6**

The brick-walled room was brightly illuminated by stark floodlights suspended in each corner. Emma stood defiantly at the intersection of the four pools of light, wearing nothing but black panties and a piece of sheer cloth knotted across her chest. Her entire body was painted purest gold, with black stripe accents running horizontally from head to toe. Her golden hair was plastered back in smooth rows like a warrior's helmet. 

Lo-Chen took one look at Emma, and a malevolent grin spread across his face. He clapped his hands twice. The Dragon appeared at his right elbow, wearing his steel visor. 

"Now we will see which is stronger," Lo-Chen offered. "A Tiger, or my Dragon." He stepped back into the shadows while the green-scaled figure advanced towards the center of the room. Emma struck a martial pose, awaiting the attack. 

The Dragon Man aimed a hammerfist at the side of Emma's head; it struck her just above the ear. She directed a kick to his knee and fired a rigid fist just below his breastbone. Neither fighter reacted to the blows. The Dragon Man roared out a bellow and charged at Emma, carrying her bodily and slamming her into the unyielding wall. He drove his shoulder forward in an attempt to crush her, but made no headway; after a minute, she nimbly squirmed out of his arms. She danced back to the center of the room with a graceful _jete_ , completely unharmed. Lo-Chen stepped forward and arched an eyebrow. 

"Remarkable," he said. "It seems you have discovered the secret of the _Liao-lung._ " 

"I've discovered the secret of your operation here, as well," Emma challenged. "Did you really think you could get away with abducting British citizens and selling them into slavery?" 

"Merely slatterns of the street," Lo-Chen said contemptuously. "They are never missed." 

Emma narrowed her eyes to slits. "They are women," she declared, "and one of them is my friend." 

"They only have value as merchandise." 

"They _all_ have more value than you." She leaped directly at Lo-Chen, and the Dragon interposed his body to protect his master. The two fighters once again exchanged a series of attacks without doing any damage. 

A click echoed through the room as Steed poked his head through the door. He stealthily entered, carrying a shiny steel pail in his left hand. Emma disengaged herself from the Dragon Man and backed towards him. 

"Where have you been?" she asked out of the corner of her mouth. 

"Filling a bucket of universal solvent," he said cryptically. "Don't touch. Have I missed anything?" 

"Preliminaries," Emma said coolly. "Stalemate." 

Lo-Chen watched the conversation between them, then pulled a single-shot Derringer from the pocket of his robes. Emma saw it and approached him with bravado. 

"I don't think your gun can hurt me," she boasted, "unless you can hit my eye from that distance." 

"You may be invincible from the _Liao-lung,_ " Lo-Chen sneered, "but he is not." He aimed the gun at Steed's chest and pulled the trigger. 

Emma gasped. Steed had reacted a split-second before the shot was fired, covering his heart with his painted right hand. The bullet deflected, ricocheting once before burying itself in the wall. 

"God save the Queen," Steed observed with a grin. He displayed the back of his hand to Lo-Chen. "There's a little bit of Dragon in all of us." He set the bucket down as the sinister figure in the purple robes rushed towards him. Emma tried to stay to defend Steed, but the Dragon Man grabbed her arm and pulled her away. 

"Steed!" she cried. He was still without his bowler and umbrella. Steed smiled as he faced Lo-Chen. 

"I can defeat you with one hand behind my back," he said wryly. "In fact, it'll have to be that way." Tucking his left hand out of harm's way, Steed formed a fist with his painted right hand. He threw a slow, looping punch that connected with Lo-Chen's cheek, then backhanded him across the face. Steed felt no pressure, but the effect it had on his opponent was dramatic; he looked as if had been hit by a rock. Lo-Chen staggered dazedly towards the wall. 

Steed looked at his fist in amazement. "Wait until Mei-Ling hears. Did it with only one hand." 

Emma had her own problems. The Dragon had grabbed a sword from one of the wall displays, and before she could get a weapon to counter him, he aimed a slash at her backside, perhaps assuming that she had failed to paint under her scant clothing. Steed's brushwork must have been thorough; the blade glanced harmlessly away. However, she did start to feel a cool breeze—her nylon bottoms now had additional ventilation. 

With Lo-Chen temporarily disabled, Steed grabbed the pail handle and rushed to Emma's side. He waited until she delivered a flying spin kick to disarm the Dragon Man, then the instant she was clear, he hurled the liquid contents directly onto the Dragon's torso. 

"What was that?" Emma asked as she sailed past. 

"Paint remover," Steed said with a grin. 

Emma closed back in on her opponent, her _bagh nakh_ Tiger Claws at the ready. With an animal growl, she slashed at the Dragon's chest. The metal tines grated as if they were being dragged across stone, and at first she thought the attack had been ineffective. Then she saw a row of red scratches appear on the Dragon Man's skin as he retreated. Steed's paint remover was working! 

The liquid solvent was running down the length of the Dragon's abdomen and dripping into a puddle on the floor. Emma took one look at his soaked loincloth and a mischievous grin spread across her face. Sprinting forward, she took a full swing with her foot and buried her instep into the bulging cotton pouch between his legs. This time, as her foot sank in, the reaction was immediate; the Dragon Man grimaced, bent at the waist, and let out a keening groan. 

"You should have used a sealer coat," Emma smirked. 

She darted in close and pulled off the Dragon's steel visor while he was still clutching his groin. His eyes betrayed a glimmer of fear, and to Emma, it almost made up for the humiliation that he had put her through earlier. Almost. She stayed near, planning to strike with the Tiger Claws while he was still incapacitated. 

The Dragon Man suddenly straightened up and grabbed her wrists, and Emma realized she had made a tactical mistake by getting too close. Even though the Dragon was losing the paint that made him invincible, he still had bear-like strength. Just as she turned to face away from him, he pulled her close and squeezed. 

While her own paint was keeping her from getting any cracked ribs, her opponent's iron grip prevented Emma from launching any attacks of her own. The Dragon Man grasped his elbow with one hand to maintain the pressure, then moved his other hand slowly upwards across her chest before finally clamping it over her mouth. 

Emma realized in horror that although the _Liao-lung_ protected her body, she could still be suffocated. She thrashed wildly, kicking backwards with her heel in the hopes of finding and unprotected area. His shins still felt as if they were made of stone; the paint remover hadn't reached that low, and she couldn't kick any higher. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Steed refilling the bucket from a jerry can. She bit at the palm covering her mouth, but it was painted. Emma felt dizzy, and knew she had only a few seconds left to act—Steed wouldn't be done in time to save her. 

Luckily, the Dragon Man's efforts to strangle her had weakened the hold that he had on her chest, and with a final, violent effort, Emma worked one of her arms free. She jabbed an elbow back into her captor's ribs, easily finding a paint-free spot, and the Dragon doubled over with the wind knocked out of him. Emma staggered away, panting as she looked back at her foe. 

Thanks to the solvent, the Dragon was both wounded and woundable. Emma merely had to bide her time and stay at a safe distance. The Dragon knew this as well; in desperation, he bulled forward. He fiercely began punching her in every conceivable spot, kicking at her groin, looking for a chink in her armor of paint. To her amazement, she felt no pressure at all. Emma thanked the stars she had allowed Steed to talk her into painting every inch of her body. 

The Dragon Man managed to grab her wrist and pulled her into a face-to-face embrace. Instead of squeezing, he gyrated, rubbing his body against her. The move seemed foolish; Emma easily raked his forearms with her claws. Then he spun her around to face away from him, reasserting his bear hug. She could feel the dampness of the paint remover on her chest, and she suddenly realized his strategy. The pain in her torso immediately became intolerable; she had lost enough paint that she was now vulnerable to the pressure. Spots appeared before her eyes as the Dragon's tightly-clamped arms made it impossible for her to breathe. 

"Stee—," she panted heavily. "Steed!" 

Steed was by the door, having successfully fought off Lo-Chen a second time using his painted hand. He grabbed the filled bucket and shouted to Emma from the other side of the room. 

"Mrs. Peel! Jump!" 

She lifted her feet up off the ground as Steed flung the liquid across the floor. The solution washed over the Dragon Man's feet as Emma looked down in satisfaction. She landed by throwing all her weight onto her right heel, sinking it into the Dragon's instep. He immediately released her and howled in pain as he hopped around on one foot. 

The door to the room opened, and Mei-Ling entered with Moo-Po. Moo-Po quickly started grappling with Lo-Chen, while Mei-Ling ran to Steed's side to watch. She was still dressed in her dancer's G-string with a piece of cloth tied across her breasts. Her eyes were on fire with anticipation, like a member of a wrestling team eagerly awaiting a tag into the ring. 

Emma took one look at the Dragon still nursing his injured foot, and strode confidently towards the center of the room. She turned towards Steed and smiled, then addressed the martial arts instructor. 

"All yours, Mei-Ling," she said with a cool nod. 

Mei-Ling dashed forward and her tiny fists flew like lightning, peppering the Dragon Man's midsection. She delivered a Thai-style elbow to his solar plexus; as he bent double, she chopped the back of his neck with her hand. The Dragon Man attempted to escape by staggering away, but before he could get out of range, Mei-Ling ran up behind him and snapped a stinging kick between his legs. A loud groan echoed through the room as the column-like thighs collapsed inward with the contact, and the Dragon finally went down. 

Lo-Chen had just succeeded in untangling himself from Moo-Po when Mei-Ling turned her eye towards him. The fiendish mastermind glanced at the Dragon Man rolling on the floor, and a look of fear passed across his face. Slowly, he took a step towards the room's only exit. A grin spread across Mei-Ling's features. 

She swooped in, flying at him almost as if she was suspended on wires. Within seconds she was trying to strangle Lo-Chen with his own pigtail. Emma rubbed her shoulder against Steed's as they stood by and watched. Mei-Ling was smacking her foot into Lo-Chen's ribs. 

"Shouldn't we stop her?" Steed asked. 

"I don't think she'll kill them," Emma said with a touch of amusement. "But she'll probably make sure they ache for a very long time." 

-oOo-

Lo-Chen and the Dragon Man were immobilized on the floor, nursing a variety of sore spots. Emma stood to one side, magnificent in her mostly-gold skin, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The paint remover that soaked her clothing had rendered it more transparent than modesty allowed. Steed sidled over, and with a broad grin, leaned backwards to catch a glimpse of the rip on her backside. Emma looked directly into his twinkling eyes, prepared for his comment. 

"Don't tell me," she wrinkled her mouth. "Sir Francis Drake and the _Golden Hind._ " 

"Wrong captain," he said wryly. "More like Henry Hudson and the _Half Moon._ " 

"Maybe you should get on the phone and contact the authorities." 

"Moo-Po's already gone to do so. But knowing his penchant for avoiding police entanglements, maybe I'd better check up on him." Steed left through the door. 

Mei-Ling nodded with satisfaction at her two defeated adversaries, then walked over. She slipped her arm around Emma's waist and kissed her on the cheek. "You look good in gold," she offered. Then she flapped the loose end of the cloth knotted across her chest. "It looks like we have the same fashion designer." 

"Necessity is the mother of invention," Emma smiled. "Well, that should put an end to the exploitation here. Nice work, _sensei_." 

"You've done a good night's worth of fighting yourself," Mei-Ling replied. "We were watching you earlier when you took care of that emir and the guards. I told you that you were strong enough to perform a thigh strangulation." She affectionately pinched Emma's waist. "Steed said you had the 'bite of a tiger'—a very good description of you, I think." 

Emma eyes flashed in alarm. "Steed was watching?" 

"Yes, along with Moo-Po. They were both very impressed." 

"But I was topless!" 

"I gather that was one of the things that impressed them." 

As if on cue, Steed entered the room carrying a pail of Moo-Po's solvent. He held up a damp rag. "The police are on their way," he said jovially. 

Emma narrowed her eyes. "What do you intend to do with that?"" 

"I painted you, Mrs. Peel," he offered innocently. "It's only right that my skilled hands remove my artwork." 

"I don't think so," Emma said smugly. "Hand me that bucket. I'm off to take a long hot shower." 

"In that case, I'm off to take a long cold one," Steed joked. 

Mei-Ling came forward and took Steed by the arm. "Have I ever told you about my time with the Shaolin monks?" she asked. Steed watched the golden Emma as she vanished through the door, a flap of nylon from the seat of her panties fluttering in the breeze. 

Mei-Ling continued, her eyes alight with passion. "They can actually kill a man using only a single _finger..._ " 

-oOo-

A dwindling number of glass and steel marbles were scattered in the three-foot circle on the floor of Steed's apartment. He was on his knees outside the ring, knuckling down for a shot at one of the ducks that remained from the original forty-nine. Emma knelt beside him, her cheek pressed against his as she analyzed the layout. 

"You'll never make that shot," she advised. 

"That's where you're wrong," Steed grinned. "Moo-Po has taught me a little something about handling small objects. It's true, marbles aren't buttons, but..." He released his shooter and two marbles caromed outside of the circle. 

"Lucky shot." She nudged his hip with hers. "You know, I'm still cleaning gold paint out from between my toes." 

Steed smiled. "I rather fancied you as a tiger." 

Emma gave a sexy growl and nipped at the lobe of his ear. Her expression became serious. 

"No telling how many woman were sold into slavery at the hands of Lo-Chen," she said grimly. 

Steed matched her somberness as he knuckled down again. "The Ministry has escalated the issue to the highest diplomatic priority at The Hague. The Saudi ambassador and the new king, Faisal, assured us of their full cooperation in returning the women back to England. Reparations to be paid from Lo-Chen's fortune, of course. He won't be needing it where he's going." 

Emma nodded. "That's more like it." 

"They also rounded up the manager of the club, who was in on the whole scheme," Steed continued. "He was quite upset. Seems he blames his downfall on a masked stripper named 'The Erotic Emmanuelle.' You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" 

"No," Emma said, feigning innocence. "I was abducted soon after you left." 

"How soon?" 

"Soon," she answered vaguely. 

"This one's for all the marbles," Steed announced. He carefully aimed for the final duck, moving his head to examine the line from every angle. Emma playfully maneuvered on her hands and knees around the circle to a point opposite him. Then she bent low so he would have an unobstructed view of the lacy lingerie inside her sweater as he shot. Steed missed badly. 

"Distracted?" she asked with a smile. 

"I think Mei-Ling may be starting to have a bad influence on you." 

"Starting?" Emma grinned. She knuckled down and easily knocked out the final duck. "Now your marbles belong to me, John Steed. Keepsies and no quitsies." 

"Fair is fair, Mrs. Peel. What can I do to regain control of my steelies?" 

She pretended to ponder the question for a moment. "Dinner at Mario's would be a good start. I feel like Italian. Followed by a warm Chablis, I think; some of your Premier Cru private stock, mind you—not the casual stuff you keep out here on the liquor cart." 

Steed pressed close enough that his lips brushed her cheek. "All that, just to retrieve my great-aunt's Cat's Eye Bumboozer?" 

Emma shook the velvet bag of marbles next to his ear. 

"We're just beginning," she teased. 

-oOo-


End file.
